


Where the Wild Things Are

by emotional_ejaculation



Category: mine - Fandom
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotional_ejaculation/pseuds/emotional_ejaculation
Summary: He's not always the bad guy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is a much long version of this...i posted this one because it was less personal, yet hopefully it makes sense.

....

 

The distant murmur of the radio. The low thrum of the beaten up pickup truck usually went unnoticed, but that day it was all they could hear. 

Hair flew over her shoulder and caught on her tongue. The light painted her a cool mahogany. She looked at him. Another song was playing on the radio, and he was soundlessly singing along. 

Light rain showered on the cargo bed, every drop falling against the tailgate ringing out like a little slap. 

Edmond and Frankie sat across from each other. They’d catch gazes every once and a while. She could see in the back windows’ reflection that his teeth had sunken into his bottom lip. She gripped onto the seatbelt constricting her body and pulled it away from her chest. She couldn’t breathe. 

He looked like he’d taste like the color brown. With hints of cinnamon or licorice, but a main flavor of something like…coffee, or a strong kick of dark chocolate. She imagined he’d taste like how burnt wood smells, but spicy. Like smoked meat and berry preserves. Trees, ink, or led. 

His own deep chuckles reminded her of thunderstorms, but the warmth his body oozed made her feel lighthearted. She was beaming-they were beaming. All of the time. There had been laughter in the car all morning-the embrace of a laugh as wonderful as that it could be felt through every artery in the body. It was all warm and unforgiving-the feeling would haunt them. 

 

...

Her silk thighs hugged the sticky blanket her and Edmond lay sprawled upon, listening to gun sounds in silence. There was considerable space between them. Wilder and the boys were a few feet away.

The Addam’s family did their fireworks like they did their Holiday lights-a statement that could be seen from a few miles away. 

The bonfire caught and raged-the blistering heat toasted their skin. Roasted at the front and frozen from behind-the fire was cooking them gently but the October cold bit and nibbled at their backs, leaving them raw on the inside. Their skin glowed orange red and gold-their eyes reflected the flickering, small slivers of dancing flames playing in irises. Frankie was staring at Edmond ’s hand like it contained the answers to every question in the world. Old rings held onto his fingers like they were lifelines. The firelight shone on the worn down silver that attested it had been carried so often. They looked so sad where they wrapped his fingers; unaware of the privilege that it was to be carried by him.

“Are you warm?” She asked, and her voice was soft, like the belly of a peach. Like her skin. He was not a pillow, but he was smothering her. She felt like she couldn’t breathe when he was in the room.

The only sound in the small break of fireworks was the twigs that snapped and cracked.

“Very.”

 

....

She couldn’t decide whether Molly’s Diner at 3 in the morning was captivating or depressing. In corners, girls with day old clothes and oatmeal in their bowls laughed and ostentatiously brought boys with grins and plates of bacon over. In some other corners, elderly couples with playing cards and cooling cups of black coffee sent smiles the way of tired, 20-year-old waitresses.

  She felt like gum that had lost all of its flavour.

  The red and white-checkered floor paled in comparison to his red flushed cheeks. He felt silly, over-reaching; beautiful and romantic-the opposite of her. He smelled like alcohol and something angry. Edmond entertained himself by watching Frankie pop bubblegum and read magazines through hours of aching. He thought her bruised collarbones were kind of pretty, in a sad way-the colors blended in his foggy mind. 

She found her attention being captured by a cat outside the window right in front of her. Breath freezing as it dispelled from the creature’s little mouth. She never thought too much about a cat’s breath-in fact, she never thought much about anything’s breath. Some things were instinctual. 

Edmond ’s tousled hair-sunken and red eyes. His father looked like that sometimes, when he stumbled into the house in the middle of the night and called his son’s name. Searching for a light switch. 

A sharp light from a parking car illuminated Frankie’s face. In Edmond ’s state, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And tomorrow, when he was sober, he would still think so, but would be better at hiding it. 

“Are you okay?” she laughed to herself-he wanted to know what’s so funny. He laughed too. The shape of her lower lip seemed ideal. 

She told him, “It’s loud in here, I can barely hear you,” and he nodded because it was loud, but he liked reading her lips. 

Before he could repeat himself, Wilder took a seat beside Frankie and kissed her roughly. He tasted like coffee and toothpaste-a mint flavor. It tasted bland on her tongue. She tried brushing away his tongue taste with bristles on plastic many times, but only ended up ruining her gums. She wished she could just forget the grip he could get on her thighs and throat and all of it, but he was never going to leave her. He was never going to die.

Edmond observed that they touched like they knew each other-they kissed like they wanted to be cured. The heat of Wilder’s palm was more than enough to make Frankie lean into him. It seemed like he was using the winter to bind her to his body warmth. 

 

...

She stood; her skin a green from the choice in lights above. 

Laughter and the smell of weed. Smacking lips and plastic cups-that was what they did for fun. 

The music was so loud that it made her skin tingle and her lungs feel mush. The bass thumped in time with her heart and she felt like she was going to implode. The outside noises were so loud she was starting to think they were coming from within, and she was mistaking the two for one another and she thought her insides were trying to shatter to pieces. 

Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter could be heard. She couldn’t make out any words, but laughter rang in her ears and wouldn’t seem to stop. The song that was playing got louder the further she got into the crowd, and she tightened her grip on Wilder. Neon lights flashed everywhere like police sirens. She looked so pasty under the hectic lights, sweating slightly despite the cold breeze coming from the open windows and doors.

The more time spent weaving through the people and the music, the more the veins in his hands began to look like snakes, and tighter did his beautiful lips stretch over his teeth. Shivers made their way down her spine even though the air was sticky in the center of the room. The music playing was something dark and alternative, and Wilder had yelled over earlier, “Pixies are Bible,” so Frankie assumed that was the band. 

She didn’t know how to communicate with Wilder’s friends. Their sentences were slurred and oddly put together, and smiling and nodding was her defense mechanism. It was fascinating, how they knew all these words, and they were all in English, but when they mixed one too many drinks and tried to string them together into sentences, they just didn’t make any sense. 

She was strewn out on the red velvet (cheap) couch, as Wilder’s palms drifted through her hair, the pads of his fingers trailing down her scalp before they continued down her back. 

He spoke to his friends like he was the most comfortable person there. Pulling their lips into wide, cheesy grins. He looked so young when he did; his face lit up as his eyebrows shot up his forehead, the laziness of his state only adding to the youthful expression. Sometimes she forgot he was only seventeen. It made her want to kiss him until his cheeks put the couch to shame. 

“I like your hair. Can I have a piece?” He tugged at her prayer of curls before a small hand swatted him away. She felt his hand slowly slide down her neck, resting on her collarbone, his calloused fingers settling and making home a place in their crevices. 

“Freak.”  A bottle of wine swung from her fingertips, her lips tinted from having kissed it. The fluorescent hot pink of the shifting neon lights stained his hair. He started giggling. His teeth practically burst out from behind his lips. Dimples she didn’t know existed came forward, and he was half-hiding his face behind one large hand. She stared at him laughing long enough for the tears to rise in his eyes and his nose to wrinkle. Amusement reflected in his irises.

Edmond lay sprawled (drunk) across from her, watching with venom as Wilder’s arm wrapped around her neck in a playful chokehold, his beer bottle swaying inches from her cheek. 

 

...

His eyes were wild, his lips red and slightly swollen. His cheeks held a blush she hadn’t seen on him in a while. His chest rose and fell in deep intervals. The fragile sunbeams, which were weak this time of year, still managed to crawl sluggishly in through the windowpane and each of them there on the mattress. 

He reached out and began to unzip her sweater. The feeling of the zipper being dragged down its teeth could be felt through layers of skin-her body broke out in goose bumps.  
She closed her eyes. The familiar clinking of a belt buckle; the zip of a zipper; denim shuffling down the skin of his legs-sounds she wanted to hold onto forever. 

His curly hair was once again bedraggled, his eyes were encompassed by dark circles, and beads of sweat rested upon his brow-a proper mess. 

His eyes swallowed her body. He watched the silent sways in her breathing-like slight caesuras in her lungs that moved in time with the blood pumping through her. Elephants easily replaced his butterflies. 

my brain is a microwave that’s always overheating thoughts of you, and I burn everything I touch... She smiled with lots of teeth and flushed at his attentive moves.

He pressed a soft kiss to her knee. 

“You okay?” His voice was gravelly and harsh in the silent space.

He looked up at her with furrowed brows; worry peaking through the haziness of his half-closed eyes. She nodded. He’s so dark the room almost swallows him up.  
Her lip trembled when he started kissing a line up her thigh, the shadow of stubble scratching her skin. She felt his breath on her. All she could see was the dizzy darkness of the insides of her eyelids, but he knew she was feeling everything. His breath directly on her hot skin was a bit too much. 

He looked flushed and distracted and the prettiest she had ever seen him.

He rubbed his thumb where his hand was resting on her knee. 

“Take off your shirt.” He did what she wanted him to. Immediately.

He got back to his previous position, enjoying the touch of even more of his skin against hers. Edmond licked his lips. The feverish shine in his eyes frightened her. 

His stomach and shoulders were radiating heat onto her. This sensation made her insides melt. 

Dismissed old T’s, cold breaths and warm chests.  Standing so close that his exhale was her inhale. She whispered in his ear, “Don’t leave me.” No promises. And afterwards, “Tell me your fears until my ears bleed-I could listen to you talk about nothing forever.” She got chills when he spoke. The hairs on her arms stood at his call of her name. 

Her body lay splayed over his chest, small and pale in comparison. She was focusing on his breathing. It was harsh and labored, as if he had to walk a thousand miles just to get there, in bed beside her with nothing but those god awful sheets hiding his body from the sunlight seeping through. He smelled like exhaustion, but underneath it all, she caught pine. He smelled like the earth, and the smoke she had watched oozing from his mouth like all the secrets he never told her.

 

...

The afternoon sun sent its golden rays through the curtains, and shadows played upon his cheeks. They were tainted red, the alcohol the night before having loved his mouth so much it had left little love bites all over his face. His eyes were drunk in the morning light, and he stretched out his muscles and pushed his unruly hair out of his face. He groaned, and peeled open his eyes again, first sight being the branches of a tree dancing against the windowpane, asking for permission to enter. The whole room was silent, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. The ceiling fan was turning and casting shadows over the wooden floors, cutting the sunlight rays and one would wonder if you could go deaf just by air chopping. The shower began, and Edmond decided that everything could sound like pain. When the water pressure was good in the bathroom, it sounded like screaming.

Outside, the sky was holding in tears. Constipated rain was what he would call it. The orange leaves shivered beside the room, the breeze shoved through the tree branches without hurting them it seemed. The leaves flew up to the sky covered in specks of white and gray cotton balls. The leaves spread their bodies across the yard, and as they piled on top of each other the green grass was robbed of the sight of the skies above it. 

Edmond could feel war drums echoing around in his stomach, and reluctantly decided it was time to move. There was a half eaten apple yellowing over on the night table-he figured that was Frankie’s. 

The shower fell quiet, only the sudden drum of the releasing rain and the hum of the wind remaining. He heard her skin drying, and imagined her wet hair clinging to her neck, her black lashes riddled with droplets of water, her cheeks flushed with heat. His heart beat in his chest as he imagined it, but then the door opened, and he didn’t have to anymore.

Water droplets fell from the tips of her hair and stained the carpet, the bed creaked underneath him despite the light pressure he was putting on it, and she barely spared him a glance. He rose and treaded softly past her, the floorboards shaking beneath his feet. He treaded as if he was afraid that if he stepped too hard, the floor would cave in. Their love was vague. Like tears in rain or bloodstains on red dresses and all the things that blended into the background. He could name a million ways her skin might feel under his fingertips, but it didn’t really matter.

By the time he allowed the mirror a staring contest, the bathroom light flickered on; the forest green of his eyes swallowed his pupils before honing in on his reflection.

He was immediately attacked by the image of Frankie behind him, her phone locked to her ear. She spoke hastily. 

“Wilder…” She murmured sternly. Edmond grimaced and laughed bitterly, and she continued buzzing like a fridge in her phone. 

“I love you too, I have to go…”

Edmond tucked his body back into the bathroom. He could smell her lavender perfume and remember her body wrapped around his, if he shut his eyes tightly enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to remind myself.


End file.
